


Music Is My Television

by tracy7307



Series: Depth of Winter, Invincible Summer [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 10:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4517646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tracy7307/pseuds/tracy7307
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James (Bucky) discovers Matt's record collection. Fluff ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Music Is My Television

**Author's Note:**

> For Isisanubis. Thank you for your encouragement.

Matt’s fingers suddenly halted their movement across the Braille pages in front of him. In the month since James had defeated Baron Zemo, HYDRA seemed to be laying low, though Matt wasn’t naïve enough to believe that they’d defeated them fully. So when Matt heard James’s heart rate pick up loud and fast as a rabbit’s, he scrambled into their bedroom, grabbing his clubs from the table as he ran. 

He stopped short when he felt waves of happiness rolling from James. He set down the clubs and remembered that when it comes to heartbeats, panic and surprise sound nearly the same.

“You have a record player,” James said as he stood in front of the decades-old console. The muscles around James’s lips moved into a smile and his heart slowed into a steady, happy rate. “Didn’t think I’d see one of these again. I assumed that they all got scrapped for newer technology.” 

Matt stood next to James and opened the lid to his record collection. “I prefer vinyl. There are a decent number of people who still do. This was actually my dad’s system.” His fingers ran over the edges of the records. “I’m not really into T.V., so this is how I like to entertain myself.”

“Why this and not digital copies?” James reached down and touched his phone. When Matt came home one day to find James with headphones on and Pandora at his fingertips, Matt expressed his surprise. _Technological advances always intrigued me_ , was all James had to say before popping the headphones back on and refocusing on his task of exploring stations. “Sound seems to be crisp and clean with digital.” 

“I don’t need music to be perfect. I love the sound of the needle moving through the grooves and the way it crackles when it plays.” Matt pulled out a record, running his hand over the cover. “I like how tactile it is – holding it in my hands, feeling the cover and the sound the sleeve makes when I pull it out.” Matt slid the record back in its spot. “It’s more meaningful to be able to handle it – that you’re physically able to touch the music. Digital music is too polished and impersonal. To me, at least.” 

James looked over the records, pulling them out at random. “How can you tell which is which?” 

“I have the order memorized.” He ran his finger along the first thirty-three albums. “Up to this point, these belong to my father. Everything else from there back is in order of the time I bought them. I know which ones they are. Although there was that one time in college when Foggy got mad that I ate his Doritos and messed up the order.”

“That’s a pretty shitty thing to do.”

“I bought him a new bag and he helped me reorganize. No big deal.” 

“Any records that I might recognize?” 

“Maybe,” Matt said. “I think the earliest is from the late fifties – Elvis Presley, so they’d all be from after your time. It would depend on if any of these have popped up on your phone.” 

James began flipping through Jack’s collection, reading out some of the record labels. “Hm. The Beatles – heard them on Pandora last week. The Rolling Stones. The Who. The Temptations – oh, I heard them on the Motown station. Janis Joplin. Jefferson Airplane. Where do your records start?” 

Matt pointed out the first one. James pulled it out and looked at the cover. “Changesonebowie?” 

“David Bowie compilation album. Still one of my favorites.” 

James replaced it and flipped through several more. “Led Zeppelin – I remember them. I liked Ramble On. Ramones. Sex Pistols?” 

Matt smiled as he felt Bucky’s face heat up. “Punk rock. I’ll explain it later.” 

James continued perusing the artists and titles, reading out a few he found interesting. “Patti Smith. The Clash – I’ve heard London Calling. The Stooges. Queen. Pixies. Nirvana. The Breeders. Beck. White Stripes. The Black Keys.” 

Those records represented many different things in Matt’s life – at times they were his only friends in a lonely orphanage; they were sometimes impromptu parties on his floor at college; lately, they were outlets for pent-up rage. “Lots of memories and emotions wrapped around those songs.” 

James turned and wrapped his arms around Matt’s waist. “You’ll have to play your favorites for me.” He leaned forward for a kiss. “Why don’t you pick one out?” 

Matt kissed him again, kissing his nose and chin before placing his forehead to James’s. “Okay.” 

He thought for just a couple of moments before the perfect song floated into his head – a song from one of his dad’s albums. He pulled the record from the sleeve, placed it on the turntable and dropped the needle. 

A brassy introduction filled their bedroom followed closely by the smooth tenor of Al Green’s voice. James took a step back. “Care to dance?” 

Matt felt his face flushing with what was probably a roaring shade of red. “I, ah-” he stammered, “I don’t really have a lot of dancing experience.” The lyrics poured soulfully from the speakers: _You make me feel so brand new/ I want to spend my life with you…_

James pulled Matt close. “This is something I’m good at.” James’s hand applied gentle pressure on Matt’s lower back. “Trust me. I’ll lead you.” He held up the fingers of Matt’s right hand to his lips, kissing each one. “I’ll show you how. It’s easy.” 

Matt felt a little light-headed with all the affection. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay. I’ll try not to step on your toes.”

Since he was nine years old, Matt had trusted his body and its effectiveness; Stick made damn well sure of that. His body was a weapon; his mind controlled his body; his body controlled his enemies. Now he was putting full trust of his body, his greatest weapon, in James’s hands. It felt exhilarating to let go of control.

James lifted Matt’s right hand out in the traditional dancing frame and began rocking them back and forth gently. After giving Matt a few moments to adjust to the movement he started a small step-touch and Matt followed suit. With a gentle pull on Matt’s back and pressure on Matt’s hand, James turned Matt in a slow circle. 

_Let’s stay together, lovin’ you whether, whether, times are good or bad, happy or sad._

James ran his fingers over Matt’s. “Is this okay?” 

“Yeah,” Matt said with a smile.

“Who’s the singer?”

“Al Green. He’s known for his soul music from the 1970s.” 

“I like it. He’s got a fantastic voice.” 

“I’ve always liked him.” A somber memory floated in his mind. “But I remember my dad playing it after my mom left. He was drunk. Sitting in his chair. He just kept playing it over and over. He held her locket in his hand.” 

James pulled Matt in tight against his chest and continued dancing. Matt went with the movement and felt his throat thickening. “I’ve got you now. Shh,” James said as tears slid down Matt’s cheeks. “I’ve got you.”

For the rest of the song James held him tight, pressing his cheek against Matt’s and moving him in a slow circle. Matt pressed his face to the nape of James’s neck, inhaling the scent of his skin. 

Matt laughed and said, “You smell a bit like Karen.” 

“She came over while you were out in the mask. I told her you were picking up dinner. She dropped off some tomatoes for us and gave me a hug.” 

“Ah. She’s been wearing something new lately – bright and floral. I like it.” 

When the song ended, James spun Matt into a dramatic dip and kissed him. “Sometimes I’m a bit jealous of you.”

“How’s that?”

“I wish I could read your body as easily as you can read mine.” He pulled Matt back up and continued their dance into the next song. “I wish I could know what you’re feeling just by listening or touch.” 

Matt slid his left hand up to James’s shoulder and toyed with his hair. Secretly, Matt was thrilled when James turned down a haircut a couple of weeks ago. Matt loved the feeling of the thick locks sliding between his fingers. “I’m willing to bet you can still tell how I’m feeling. Try it now. Look at me and tell me what you see, hear or feel.” 

“I feel you playing with my hair and it feels damn good,” James laughed. “I can tell that you’re content enough with me to let me lead you in something you were uncomfortable doing at first. I could tell you were embarrassed because you blushed and stammered when I asked you to dance – which you’re doing magnificently, by the way.” James spun them a little faster that time.

He paused before continuing. “And I can tell by the way your lips are parted that you want to kiss me.” 

Matt stopped dancing. His hand moved from James’s shoulder to stroke along his jaw. The record needle scratched along the vinyl before the next song played when Matt leaned forward to kiss James, fingers still touching his jaw as he kissed lightly at first, changing the angle a bit before letting his tongue touch James’s lips. 

James responded with a little hum and parted his lips, touching Matt’s tongue with his own. The speakers crackled behind the music as James pulled back and touched two fingers to Matt’s lips. Matt heard James’s pupils dilate as his fingers traced over Matt’s bottom lip. 

“Do you know how sexy your lips are? No. Don’t answer that. I want to kiss them some more.” 

James kissed him long and deep and Matt committed it to memory – the slide of lips, the breath on his cheek, the beat of James’s heart, the way James’s fingers dipped under the waist of his jeans just a little bit the longer the kiss went on. He fixated on the details because he knew he’d be facing Fisk soon, and this was something he’d need to hang onto when things started to get bloody.

James finally broke their kiss. “Your mouth, Matt. Jesus.” He gave Matt a small kiss. “You do this thing where you lick your lips a few times a day and it drives me crazy. I just want to jump on you and-” he kissed Matt again, cupping his face. 

“I can tell,” Matt laughed between kisses.

“Can you?” James asked as he guided Matt to sit on edge of the bed. “I mean, physiologically, how can you tell?” 

Matt reached over and took James’s hand, gently running his fingertips along the metal of James’s fingers. “I can hear your pupils dilate when you focus on my lips.” 

James leaned in and kissed Matt’s neck. “How else?” 

“Your breathing changes. You start fidgeting with things. Your skin heats up. And your heartbeat picks up a bit.” Matt tilted up James’s chin and kissed him. 

“That’s what you do to me, Matthew Murdock,” James said quietly against Matt’s lips. 

Al Green’s voice faded on the record player and the needle scratched against blank vinyl. Matt kissed James once and got up to lift the needle, pull the record and place it in its proper spot. 

James slid up into the bed, taking off his shirt and pants before getting under the covers. “What are your plans tomorrow?”

Matt undressed and joined James in the bed. “Thought I might get in a workout. Why?” 

James wrapped his arm around Matt and pulled him close. “Steve invited us to go to the Tower to train.” 

“Sounds good. Always wanted to check out the Avengers’ training facility.” 

As drowsiness descended on Matt, his guard slipped and his senses let in more of his surroundings. He could hear the strong, steady beat of James’s heart under his cheek. He smelled the tomatoes in the kitchen that Karen had picked from her window garden. In the alley below, two lovers giggled and kissed as they turned the corner, accidentally bumping into a drunken, grizzled man who grunted at them.

The electronic billboard buzzed outside the window and in the next building, someone started playing a slow R&B song that Matt had never heard before.

“Hey, babe?” James asked as he stroked Matt’s arm.

“Hm?” 

“Will you play another record for me tomorrow?” 

“Yeah,” Matt said as he felt sleep tugging at the corners of his consciousness. “Of course.” 

That night, he dreamt of dancing with James in a giant room surrounded by friends, far from the reach of Wilson Fisk and the darker elements of Hell’s Kitchen.


End file.
